


I Won't Let Them Break Me Down To Dust

by metalavocadoes



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bigotry & Prejudice, Coming Out, Divorce, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Multi, Protests, Religion, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalavocadoes/pseuds/metalavocadoes
Summary: Patrick was born a boy that the rest of the world saw as a girl, and it's not easy. He's scared of the world; of his dad, of his friends, of random people in Walmart at 3 in the morning.He's stealth, though, and no one knows who he was, what he was, and he's grateful.But good things don't last.





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick Stumph was born a boy that the rest of the world saw as a girl. 

He didn't realize at first. He didn't even know his name was Patrick. How could he? When your parents refuse to let you buy the new Hot Wheels in favor of Barbie Dolls and insist that you wear dresses and skirts instead of hoodies and jeans, it can be hard finding something you like. He'd asked them countless times why he couldn't have toys like Kevin, why he had to share Megan's instead, and his father had merely sighed and said, "You're a girl, Aubrey. Girls play with dolls and wear dresses and do girly things. That's just how it is."

Patrick was foolish enough to believe him. 

He was also foolish enough to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach whenever someone called him Aubrey. That was his name, wasn't it? It's the name his mother had given him when he was born. It's the one everyone's used for as long as they've known him. 

They called him, she, they called him her, they called him a girl, too. 

And for some reason, that hurt.

But she couldn't deny that she was a girl.

So she played with her dolls and she wore her dresses, even though she found himself casting longing glances at Kevin's clothes. They just looked so _comfortable;_ she imagined what it would be like, wearing simple jeans instead of flowing skirts, presenting the Avengers on her shirts instead of Dora the Explorer, running her hands through short, choppy hair, rather than tangled, fine ponytails. It seemed so much easier. _Everything_ seemed so much easier for boys. They didn't have to wear biting headbands or scratchy blouses or painful flats that left blisters on ankles far too much for it to be safe.

Aubrey was five when she decided she wanted to be a boy.

She and Megan were playing in their shared room, bouncing stuffed animals around and creating a dramatic story that could surely be made into a soap opera if they had the right materials. Megan made her white cat walk forward and snarl at Aubrey's rabbit. Aubrey jumped back and scowled at her sister, who was now giggling in a heap on the floor. She raised her rabbit and hurled it at her sister's face, its softly furred ear smacking her across the cheek. She cried out, grabbing her face, but she was laughing, so Aubrey figured she wasn't in trouble. 

"That hurt, dummy!" Megan giggled, sitting up.

"Sorry, Megan," Aubrey answered, a smile splitting across her face. "I won't do it again."

Megan grinned, a flicker in her eyes. "You better not."

Aubrey raised her hands in a pacifying gesture, and they both laughed. They then fell into a silence so rarely experienced by young children, and as Megan leaned back against the bed, Aubrey's thoughts ran wild. She envisioned looking in the mirror and finding a tall, broad-shouldered man staring back at her, with spiky hair and a stubbled chin. She imagined that, if she were a boy, she would have a deep voice and big arms, like the men on the TV. She'd wear jeans and hoodies and t-shirts with the symbol of Captain America on the front.

(She hadn't actually _seen_ any of Captain America's movies, but he looked cool and he had an awesome shield, so Aubrey liked to think that he was a good role-model with even better charisma.)

Well, dad said she couldn't do things that weren't girly because she was a girl.

What if she wasn't a girl?

"Hey, Meg?" She said softly, staring up at her sister with round eyes of powdery blue.

"What's wrong, sis?" Megan asked, crooking a brow. "Do you need stuff? Wanna keep playing?"

Aubrey felt something spark in her chest, something cold and insidious and downright demonic, but she tried to blame it on hunger. She was hungry, wasn't she? It's not as though the word 'sis,' the word she's been referred to so many times, made her uncomfortable. Not at all. 

Aubrey shook her head and stared down at her hands, pointedly avoiding her sister. She took a deep breath, puffing it out shakily. "I-I," she tried, but her voice broke and wavered. She swallowed, trying again. "You know how Kevin and dad and some other people are boys?"

"Yeah?"

"What if..." she wiped at her damp eyes, sniffling. ~~Megan will think you're weird, she won't want to talk to you anymore, she'll hate you.~~

_No. She won't._

"What if I was a boy, too? What would you do then?"

Megan looked confused, staring at Aubrey as though she had just stated that One Direction would be performing at Disney Land in animal costumes. "I dunno," she said with a shrug. "Are you a boy, Aubrey?"

That… that actually wasn't that bad. She thought she'd be called weird and have Megan tut at her, tell her to stop being silly and go play with her dolls, like mom and dad did. But Megan looked at her inquisitively, awaiting an answer, and she felt some indescribable emotion burst in her chest. "I think so," she murmured.

"But Aubrey isn't a boy's name."

Well, Megan wasn't wrong. Aubrey had never heard of a boy with her name. She wasn't sure there even was such a thing as a boy with a girl's name. 

But Megan could call her something else.

She brought a hand to her chin, stroking the soft skin there slowly, and wracked her mind for names she'd heard boys use. Chris and David were common, but they didn't seem fitting. Charlie? Andrew? No, those were too... hollow. They were just random names on the Internet. _Think, think._

Suddenly, a light bulb went off in her head. She could dedicate her name to one of the most important people in her life, the one who brought her into this world and raised her with such care it could give even the priests with the posters a cavity.

"Maybe, my name could be Patrick?" She suggested, using the same voice she broke out when she tried to persuade her parents to buy candy.

Megan nodded. "That's a nice name." She smiled, eyes twinkling. "Okay, you're Patrick now, not Aubrey."

Patrick liked the sound of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I, the author, am a transgender person. This will be mostly based off of my experience in discovering who I am and coming out to my family and friends. Quite a few of the future scenes in this fic have actually happened to me in real life. I've been out for a year now, and while I still get misgendered, and some people still use the wrong name or pronouns, life's good. I'm happier than I've ever been. 
> 
> It's so surreal, thinking back to when I was viewed as the sweet little girl with the hazel eyes. My mother cried when I told her. Some of my 'friends' up and left. So, here's a PSA;
> 
> Treat your transgender friends like you would anyone else. Knowing what's between someone's legs shouldn't make you hate them, it shouldn't make you screech blasphemy from the rooftops with a megaphone, waving signs and flashing lights. 
> 
> We are not all 'edgy teens trying to be cool.' Most trans people I know are in their twenties or older. One of them is a woman in her late forties or fifties. I know about two or three trans people under eighteen. Stop perpetuating stereotypes. 
> 
> And finally, use our names and pronouns. Does your co-worker Charity go by they/them? Use they/them when referring to them. Does your classmate John want to be called Jessica? Call her Jessica. Does your friend Avery now go by he/him rather than she/her? Use his pronouns. It's difficult changing, but it's basic human decency. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you for support on my other work. If you're a transphobe who thinks that sex = gender and that there are only two genders, and continue to lurk in the comments section of Instagram, spewing your bigotry, pick up a fucking book and educate yourself. Still can't accept that we exist? Get your fucking head out of your ass and wake up to yourself. It's 20-gay-teen, not 1945. 
> 
> With all that said and done, HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! Cheers to all my fellow trans brothers and sisters, who have to put up with self-proclaimed 'scientists' on a daily basis. Cheers to non-binary people, who are told constantly that they don't exist. Cheers to my ace and aro family, who are told that they should not be at pride, that they should 'just try it.' Cheers to everyone who is bi, pan, poly and anyone loves more than one gender and has to deal with being invisible and people forcing them to chose. Cheers to the gay and lesbian people who are still told, after nearly a hundred years, that their beautiful love is disgusting and wrong. 
> 
> We are valid, we are strong, we are alive, so cheers to us, for persevering in the face of failure.
> 
> We won't let society break us down to dust.


	2. I Know That I Deserve Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With every chunk of hair that falls away, I see a new face emerging. A face that stares back at me through the mirror and says, "It's about time you let me be seen."
> 
> -My thoughts when I first got my hair cut short.

"So, you're my brother now."

"Yeah."

"And your name's Patrick."

"Yep."

"And even though you don't look like one, you're a boy."

"...Yes. Yes I am."

They were sitting in their room once again, although the toys remained in the prison of their box. They'd actually deigned to clean their room, and after the strenuous chore they'd decided that some relaxation was in order. 'It's good to relax, someone on TV said so,' Megan told him, and together, they'd jumped onto the bed and promptly collapsed. Sleep hadn't come to claim them -they weren't that tired- so instead they resorted to talking. Megan had made a new friend named Harmony; she had golden hair and sapphire eyes. Megan said she was the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen, even prettier than Mulan. And she loved Mulan, more than anyone else. Except maybe Patrick.

And of course, because Patrick had nothing to say, he'd let his sister drone on about Harmony and Mulan and the beauty of Disney princesses. He hoped that he would make friends when he went back to school; so far, the only interactions he'd had were when people had stolen his crayons and taken away his books. They'd almost ripped the pages, but he'd managed to get the books away from them fast enough.

Holidays were a blessing, almost too good to be true; he could spend not only a few hours, but whole days reading. It was glorious, astronomical, unearthly. He told Megan as such, but she only laughed and called him a bookworm. He knew there was nothing wrong with being a bookworm, because his teacher said bookworms were smart, but he stayed quiet. 

Soon enough, there'd been a change of topic, and Patrick wasn't sure if he was happy to be talking to Megan or not. 

"But boys don't wear dresses," Megan intoned. "They never do."

"I know," Patrick whined irritably. "I don't like dresses. They're all pink or purple. Pink's an ugly color. I like orange."

"You could ask mommy to get you some boy clothes."

Patrick's eyebrows rose. "You think she'd let me? She always gets me dresses."

"If you told her you were a boy, she wouldn't get you dresses."

Something about telling his mother, about seeing her reaction, caused a heavy stone to drop into his stomach, and he shook his head. "I-I don't really wanna tell mommy just yet."

"Why?"

"I dunno, I just... don't wanna."

Megan had always been his best friend, the one he could go to when he needed someone. His mother was nice, sure, and she said she loved him a lot, but he just wasn't ready to tell her yet. Megan could be the only one to know for now. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. 

"Maybe you could get a haircut."

That… that wasn't a bad idea. Boys had short hair; if he got his hair cut, would he look more like a boy? How would he look without the dead weight of a ponytail flowing behind him when he ran? 

Like himself.

He'd look like himself.

"I'm gonna ask her." He grinned toothily, beaming. "Thanks, Megan. Love you."

"Love you, too, little brother."

///

"Hey, mommy?"

Patrick's mother was sitting on the couch, one knee over the other and phone pressed against her ear. She shushed Patrick with a little wave of her finger, mouthing the words 'not right now,' and continued to speak with her friend. Patrick frowned.

"M-mommy," he said quietly, wringing his hands. "It's kind of im-imp- it's kind of big."

Patricia sighed and moved her leg off of her knee. "I'll call you back," she said into the speaker, hanging up and looking at Patrick with a sigh. "What is it, dear?"

"Um, c-can I get my hair cut?"

Patricia's brow furrowed. "Like a trim?"

"No, no, I want it short."

"Oh, so a bob then."

"What's a bob?"

"It's a haircut that's about this short," Patricia said, holding a hand just above her shoulder.

Patrick shook his head. "No, I want it _short_ short. Like, really short."

Patricia just looked even more confused. "Why do you want to cut your hair, Aubrey?"

That name. That God-damn name. An invisible fist slammed into Patrick's stomach, knocking the wind out of him and making his chest ache.

Should he tell her? Should he say his true name?

No, no, she wouldn't like that. She gave him that name because it was special. She wanted him to have that name. He'd be rude to tell her he didn't like it.

And what of his gender? _Hey mom, I'm actually a boy and you've been calling me the wrong things for the last five years._

She'd freak. 

"U-uh," he looked away with a trembling lip. "I-I mean, it'd just look... cool? Um, and s-some people at school pull my hair. And it just looks easier and... I dunno. Please?"

Patricia ran a hand down her face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, mommy. One hundred percent."

"Fine. I'll book an appointment." His mother smiled gently, and he returned it as relief swept through him.

The first step of the journey would soon be taken.

///

"So, she wants a pixie cut?"

Patrick winced as the woman spoke with his mother, that fist slamming into his chest once again. 

 _Some day,_ he told himself. _Some day you can leave and meet new people and they'll call you Patrick. They'll call you a boy. You'll be happy._

"Well, she just said she wanted it short." Oh man, this conversation would be the death of him if they kept saying _she._ "She didn't specify. I could ask?" Suddenly, Patricia was behind him, a hand on his shoulder and a soft look on her face. "Aubrey?" She crooned. "What do you think of this?"

She held a bent magazine in her hand. A few pages stuck out and there was a thin tear in the corner, but the picture in the center held Patrick's attention. 

A child, with round cheeks and deep blue eyes, stared back at him. Their hair was the same color as his, funnily enough. He wondered if maybe, they'd taken a photo of his future self, then come back to the present and shown it to him. Their hair was short and neat, a bit choppy on the fringe, and it was more than he could ever have asked for. It was perfect, in every sense of the word. 

Recovering from his shock, he grinned and smiled up at his mother. "I like it, mommy! Can I get it, please, pretty please?"

Patricia laughed softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Of course, dear." 

"Thank you thank you thank you!" He jumped up and down in glee before wrapping his arms around his mother's legs and hugging her as best he could with his height disadvantage. She laughed again and patted the back of his head.

When he'd gotten over the surging happiness in his chest, he let the hairdresser walk him over to the chair. He hopped up and almost wrapped the towel around his neck himself. He was just so _excited._ Finally, that annoying drag behind him would be gone. Finally, he wouldn't have to spend five minutes day and night tugging out knots and smoothing out strands. _Finally._

Everything seemed to blur together after that. He couldn't tell apart the moment the hairdresser grabbed her scissors from the moment she brought them to his hair, but the moment she began chopping away strands was clear as day. Chunks of strawberry blond fell to the ground, littering the wooden floor like freshly fallen snow. 

Slowly, a new face began to emerge. His hair swept his chin now, but it still wasn't short enough. He could still tell that it was Aubrey. Precious, perfect princess Aubrey. Shorter, he needed it shorter. 

His silent demand was answered when the hairdresser snipped away even more hair, continuing her work. He closed his eyes and waited until he was told he could open them; he wanted this to be a surprise. He wanted to open his eyes and see Patrick. Handsome, stunning prince Patrick. He struggled to hold still, vibrating with anticipation. 

"I'm finished." The hairdresser said with a sigh, sounding exasperated. "Open your eyes."

Patrick did.

Patrick stared. 

Patrick nearly screamed.

That was him. That was him in the mirror, with short hair and a neat fringe and the sun catching in his eyes. That was him, with the riptide eyes and the round cheeks. That was him, with the ginger hair. That was him.

That was Patrick.

Aubrey was gone.

_Finally._

The first step of the journey.

Status: complete. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering what the haircut was; https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/195977021256222189/
> 
> Does anyone else think it looks freakishly like Patrick or is it just me?
> 
> Also I'm binge watching Attack On Titan and I'm an emotional wreck. Oof.


	3. Hide Away, They Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What the hell happened to your hair?"
> 
> -my friends when I got my hair cut.

"What on earth did you do?"

Patrick and his mother had just entered the house, hand in hand, and the minute David saw Patrick's hair he jumped out of his seat and threw his newspaper to the ground. His mouth fell open and his eyes were wide. He pointed an accusing finger at Patrick.

"She got her hair cut," Patricia said, making Patrick wince.

"Why?" Kevin asked, entering the room with his DS. He looked up briefly, analyzing Patrick's new haircut, before returning to his game. 

All eyes turned to Patrick, and he shuffled his feet nervously. "I-I just wanted to. It looks cool."

"But, but your long hair is gone!" David shouted. "It looked so much better! Why would you do that, Aubrey?"

Kevin paused his game, looking at his father blankly. "Because she wanted to, dad. Didn't you hear her?"

Patrick winced again, but the blow was dulled by the fact that Kevin was defending him. He could put up with the pronouns if that was the case. Maybe he'd tell Kevin later, so that he would use the right ones.

"But she looks like a boy!"

Patrick knew that it was meant in an insulting way, but he couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest. He looked like a _boy._ Like an _actual boy._ He hid his grin. 

"So?" Wow, he was really going to need to thank Kevin after this. 

"So? _So?"_ David stomped his foot indignantly. "She's my daughter! I don't want her to look like a boy!"

Megan stepped through the doorway. There were grass stains on her knees, and a few leaves stuck out of her hair. "I was playing soccer with my friends. What's going on?"

David groaned, sliding his hands down his face. "Great!" He threw his hands into the air in a grand gesture. "One of my daughters has boy's hair, and the other one plays a boy's sport! What did I do to deserve this?"

"Soccer isn't just for boys, dad," Megan said, glaring. "What's the big deal, anyways? 'S just hair."

Patrick smiled at Megan when everyone else looked away. She smiled back before frowning when David addressed her again. "Don't get smart on me, Megan!"

Megan cocked her head. "You're mad at me for being smart?"

"N-no, I-!" David sighed and stomped off, yelling over his shoulder, "You better not cut your hair again, Aubrey! And Megan, get yourself cleaned up right now! You're filthy."

Patrick felt as though that last part wasn't just referring to Megan's current state. He frowned at the ground, wrapping his arms around himself. His eyes began to water, and he whimpered softly. _Not right now. Don't be a baby._

His mother crouched down to his level, knees popping, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Aubrey, honey, don't cry."

"B-but." He hiccupped, eyes overflowing. "Why did dad yell at me, mommy? What'd I do?"

Patricia sighed. "Your father can be strange some times. He gets angry easily."

"Am I in trouble, mommy?"

"No, Aubrey, you didn't do anything wrong."

His mother opened her arms, and he fell into the embrace, shoulders shaking with sobs. He held on to his mother's blouse and let himself cry until he had no more tears to shed. He felt awful, and he knew that Megan and Kevin would probably call him a baby later, but he just couldn't help it. He pulled back and sniffled, wiping his nose.

"Are you alright, dear?" Patricia asked softly.

Patrick nodded, despite the sinking feeling in his chest. "I'm okay, mommy."

He gave his mother a quick hug, resisting the urge to hold on and stay, before walking over to Kevin. 

"You okay, Aubrey?" His brother asked, DS forgotten for now.

The sinking feeling grew, but he forced it down. "I'm okay." His idea from earlier came to mind; tell Kevin, and have one more person using the right words. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure."

They walked down the hall together, heading for Kevin's room. Megan ran up to them, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. Their mother shouted something about taking her shoes off, but they all ignored her. "Can I come too?" Megan asked, grinning widely.

Kevin went to refuse, but Patrick grinned back at her. "Uh huh."

"Yay!"

The minute they entered Kevin's room, the joyous demeanor of the younger children vanished.

"OH MY GOSH YOUR ROOM STINKS!"

"IT SMELLS WORSE THAN TURDS!"

Kevin rolled his eyes and sat on the bed, motioning for his siblings to follow him. They reluctantly hopped up, grimacing at the scattered clothes and lego around the room. 

"What's up, sis?" Kevin asked, turning to face them.

Patrick crossed his legs. He reached up to twirl his hair around his finger, only to remember that it wasn't there. He scratched the back of his neck instead. "Um, I-I'm actually not your sister."

"What are you talking about? Are you adopted?"

"Nuh uh," Megan answered for him. "He's a boy."

Patrick was going to scold Megan for telling him, but realized that he wouldn't have been able to do it himself. Instead, he nodded, looking at anything but Kevin.

That red firetruck next to the bed was very interesting. It had a little white ladder and black wheels, and a tiny fireman was inside.

Awesome.

Epic.

He wanted one.

Maybe he could get some from Walmart, if his parents would allow it. 

"Oh, okay."

Kevin was seriously the best brother ever. In like, the whole world.

"Th-that's it?" Patrick stammered. "You don't mind?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nope. Do you have, like, a new name?"

"Patrick."

"Okay, Patrick," Kevin said, smiling. "Good to know."

Patrick smiled back, eyes crinkling. The warmth from before exploded in his chest and made his heart sing.

"Also, I think your hair looks really cool."

///

Dinner that night was awkward, to say the least. Patricia and David focused entirely on their food, refusing to look at their children, and Patrick hunched forward in his seat, trying to appear as small as possible. Megan and Kevin both casted a concerned glance his way, frowning at the untouched heap of food on Patrick's plate. He shoved peas around with his fork and glared at them in disgust; his mother knew he hated peas, so why would she put them in his dinner? Stupid mom, never listening to him, always doing what she thinks is best.

Maybe that was part of why he was so scared to tell her; would she try to convince him he was a girl? Would she try to repress his feelings until they were nothing more than dust in the wind? He'd rather not find out, if he had a choice. 

A sharp jab to his stomach made him jolt up in his seat, and he glared at Megan. She glared right back, leaning in from beside him to whisper in his ear, "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he hissed, crossing his arms.

"You didn't eat a lot today," Kevin countered on his left. "You should. Not the peas- I know you hate peas- but all the other stuff."

Patrick huffed. "Well, maybe I don't like mashed potatoes or hotdogs either."

"Really?" Patricia asked, having overheard their conversation. She raised a brow. "The last time we had hotdogs and mashed potatoes, you cleared your whole plate and asked for seconds."

"'M not hungry."

Patricia sighed. "Yes, you are, you're just being stubborn."

"What's stubborn?" 

"I-It's, uh, it's kind of like... um... you know what, never mind. Just eat, Aubrey. Megan, I'll find a dictionary later and show you what stubborn means."

Megan nodded, and Patrick picked up his fork slowly. His stomach flipped as he scooped up a tiny piece of mashed potato and brought it to his mouth. He forced himself to swallow and immediately felt sick afterwards. Patricia watched him expectantly, and as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't stop, so he shoved his food down his throat and prayed that he wouldn't throw up at the dinner table. Just to apease his mother, he shoveled a few peas into his mouth. She seemed delighted. 

Finally, Patricia let him leave, after deciding that he'd eaten enough, and he dragged himself to his room and sprawled out on the bed. He groaned and wished he hadn't been so compliant; his gut was certainly punishing him for it. 

"You okay, Patrick?" 

Patrick found Megan standing in the doorway, and he weakly put up a thumb. He really didn't feel like it, but the last thing he wanted was a worried sister. He knew how bad that was. Right now, he just wanted to sleep. Communication was as bad as long division, currently.

Megan didn't seem to understand. "Are you gonna tell mom?"

"Tell her what?" Patrick snapped, immediately regretting the action when his sister flinched back.

"That you're a boy."

Patrick sighed.

"Maybe."

 


	4. We Don't Want Your Broken Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's not natural."  
> -a former 'friend,' on the topic of trans people.
> 
> Warning for use of the word 'tranny.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to point out that I do not stan Caitlyn Jenner. I know her only as a trans woman, and when I first heard the word 'transgender' it was refering to her. I've heard she is not to be supported, and I'm not entirely sure why, so just know that I am not a huge fan of her. I only support those who are trustworthy (like FOB and MCR for example) so she isn't a queen in my book. If someone could please explain why I have seen posts on Instagram saying Caitlying Jenner (and Blaire White, for that matter) is problematic, that'd be great.  
> Thank you!

"It's not right!"

Patrick was six when he discovered his father would hate him if he came out. 

His birthday had been last week, and while a few of his friends had actually bothered to show, he'd been miserable. The words 'Aubrey' and 'she' and 'her' still swirled throughout his mind, making him cringe and wish, with a heavy heart, that he'd been born in the right body. Why couldn't he be like Kevin? Why couldn't he be like dad?

The worst part, though, was that when he was ready to tell his mother, his father had stormed into the house with a damp newspaper in his hand. Patrick and Patricia were both sitting on the couch, and Patrick had barely gotten out, "Mom, I-" before David began his indignant rant about a woman on the front page. 

"Look at him!" He shouted, the downpour outside acting as a drumbeat to his hateful song. "Look at what he's doing!"

Patricia sighed. "What now, David?"

David marched forward and shoved the newspaper into her lap, pointing a crooked finger at a large picture surrounded by text. Beneath it read the name 'Caitlyin Jenner,' but the rest of the headline was a mystery to Patrick, due to his lacking vocabulary. 

"David, what's the problem here?" Patricia asked innocently, eyes glued to the neat print.

David growled. "He's sick in the head! He's twisted! And he received a fucking _bravery award?_ For thinking he's a _woman? How fucked up is that?"_

"David!" Patricia gasped. 

"What? I'm telling the truth! What if our children saw this? What if they get corrupted because of him?"

"First of all, you're swearing in front of Aubrey. She doesn't need to hear that." Patrick stiffened and curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. "Secondly, what's wrong with that?She _is_ a woman, David, and her name is _Caitlyn._ _She_ received a bravery award because _she_ had the courage to come out and be who _she_ truly is, even though she knew people like _you_ would hate her for it. She won't convert our children. She won't magically make them like her."

A vein bulged in David's forehead. "That's bullshit! Yeah, I hate _him_ for it, because _he's_ trying to teach people it's okay to be a tranny! And I-"

"Daddy, what's a tranny?"

Megan stared with wide eyes at her furious father, her favorite toy clutched in her hand. She'd wanted to come with Patrick when he was going to tell his mother, but after much insisting on Patrick's behalf she'd remained in her room.

The white cat's eyes caught the light and shone eerily, staring at David as if they were judging him. 

David went to answer, lip curled, but Patricia beat him to it. "Your father actually meant to say 'transgender person.'" With a heated look at her husband and a quick glance at Patrick, she continued. "A transgender person is someone who was born in the wrong body. For example, this woman here, Caitlyn Jenner, has a boy's body, but she isn't a boy. She's a transgender woman."

Megan's eyes widened. "Is she a woman like you, mommy?"

Patricia smiled. "Yes, she is. She just has a different body. Like how some people are tall and others are short."

"B-but, but he's-" David attempted a rebuttal, but Patricia wasn't having it.

"David, if it bothers you so much, ignore it. Go watch the football and try not to spread your ridiculous hate anywhere else."

David was shocked, mouth opening and closing without a word, and Patrick couldn't help but relate his expression to that of a dying fish.

"Fine!" He shouted, and stormed off down the hall. "But don't blame me when all our kids end up being trannies!"

 _A little late for that, dad,_ the defiant side of Patrick spat, and he barely had enough sense in him to clamp his lips shut and stay quiet.

Patricia sighed and ran a hand down her face. "I'm so sorry about that, dears. David has some crazy beliefs."

Megan plodded up to the couch and asked to see the picture of Caitlyn on the front page, and she and Patricia began to discuss her dress and how well it suited her, but Patrick wasn't listening. He hugged his knees tighter and swallowed thickly. 

He was transgender.

After weeks of confusion, of muddled thoughts and heavy hearts, he finally knew who he was. He finally had a name for himself. 

He was transgender.

He wasn't exactly like Caitlyn. They were similar, but not quite the same. He'd have to meet her one day and thank her for coming out, because otherwise he might not have ever known what he was. He would never have had a word for it.

Transgender.

That was what he was. 

And his mother supported transgender people. Maybe she'd support him too. It was obvious she supported Caitlyn, so would discovering she had a second son really be that bad? All this time, he'd pictured her throwing a fit, begging for him to change his mind, throwing him out of the house with nothing but the shirt on his back. 

But would she do that? Or would she hug him, thank him for telling her, go out and buy him new clothes and use the right name? Would she finally call him 'he?' 

He wanted that. More than anything. 

She'd be delighted to know that he based his name off of hers. She's always appreciated gifts, after all. Maybe she'd cry happy tears. Maybe he'd get extra desert from then on. 

She might even let him change his name. He knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be as easy as saying, "Hey, my name's Patrick now." There'd probably be some paperwork and stuff. He certainly hoped the technical part of it wouldn't need him to be involved too heavily. 

And the school role! She could change what that said, too. Instead of a hideously pink F, there'd be a prestigious blue M next to his name. _His_ name. Patrick. 

But David wouldn't.

David had said' tranny.' David had said 'he.' David had said Caitlyn was 'twisted' and 'sick in the head.'

Would he call Patrick that, too?

He can imagine it as though it were a memory; David's lips forming the words 'sick' and 'disgusting' and 'tranny.'

Maybe this wouldn't be so easy after all.

What if he changed his mind after finding out one of his own children was transgender? Would he finally see that they weren't as foul as he pictured them to be? Would he change his ways?

No.

Patrick didn't think he would.

If he came out, Patricia may love and support him, but what of his father? What of the man who's always been there, a comforting shadow in the corner of the room. 

The shadow would disappear.

And Patrick would lose a piece of himself. 

So when Patricia turned to him and asked what it was he wanted to tell her, he lied through his teeth and murmured, "Nothing, mommy. I forgot."

He nearly convinced himself, later that night, that the tears on his cheeks were merely an illusion.

He has to stay quiet.

His father can't know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attack On Titan had me like: UWAAAA *sobs and eats chocolate ice-cream in the shower for two years.*
> 
> Assassination Classroom had me like: AWWWWW *literally cannot handle how fantastic Koro Sensei is.*
> 
> Tokyo Ghoul had me like: AAAAAAAAH *lives in eternal fear of ever going outside again.*
> 
> I'm planning on watching Death Note next, and maybe Naruto after that, and at some point I want to rewatch Sword Art Online. What are Death Note and Naruto like and could you give me some brief summaries of them? (Also any warnings for major violence or sexual themes. I can handle gore and stuff but as an asexual, sexual content is just like ew. BUT NO SPOILERS!!)
> 
> Also I made a note like this on my other word Who Are You Fighting For (which you could also read because it is my baby) but I'll post it on here as well: don't be afraid to point out mistakes in my work! You might think you're annoying, but you're actually being super helpful! On the last chapter of this work MiniSchmidty pointed out that Patricia said Patrick rather than Aubrey and I could not express the amount of gratitude I felt and still feel about that. You'll be helping me and future readers by telling me about typos and the like, so go ahead and comment about them! I'd really appreciate it!


	5. There's Nothing I'm Not Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't really understand this, but I'm going to support you anyways"
> 
> -an awesome friend of mine after I came out. (He wore socks to school the next day that had the colors of the trans flag on them to support me.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to point out that Kevin and Megan's incorrect grammar is holly intentional. They're kids, okay? Give em a break!  
> (Even though it was really painful to write but whatever, I'll live.)

On Patrick's sixth Christmas, he decided he wouldn't tell his parents until he could survive on his own. 

While looking at his new dollhouse, which had thrilled Megan and disappointed him, he pretended to look excited while he plotted his future. 

He could get a job as soon as he was of age, and it'd be one that would pay him a lot of money, too. Then, when the time came for him to move out, he'd be able to buy his own house. He'd buy the best house he could ever have; there'd be a bunch of rooms; the backyard would be the size of a football field; he'd have a massive pool installed so that he could swim whenever he wanted, without worrying about an instructor; he'd have floor-to-ceiling windows like the famous people on TV. He'd seen the add with Thor (or at least, the man who acts as him) and he'd instantly been invested in the giant panels of glass, even if they'd been broken in the thirty seconds he'd seen them. He'd make sure his wouldn't break. He'd even make them bullet proof.

And he could buy all the clothes he wanted! As much as he pretended to hate it, he loved shopping. It was just so exciting, browsing through all the presented items and picking them out one after the other. He'd get leather jackets and ripped jeans like the big kids who walked past every evening. He wanted to be just like them; with cool hair and deep voices and bulging arms. They smoked, too, but his mother had said that it was bad, and he trusted his mother with his life, so he didn't think he'd take that up. 

He would put his own spin on things; he'd wear hats with cool sayings on them, like 'Gangsta' or 'Stud' or all the other things he'd seen branded onto baseball caps. 

He wondered what he'd look like with sideburns. 

Maybe he'd grow a beard. 

"Aubrey, dear, there's one more present for you."

Patricia's voice snapped him from his daydreaming and he looked up, analyzing the present being held out to him with paint-tipped fingers. 

Unlike the other presents he'd received, swathed in pastels and the colors of cotton candy, this one was wrapped with a paper so blue it was almost black. As he took it from his mother's hands, he saw that the little circles on it were the symbols of superheroes. Thor's hammer, Captain America's shield, Hulk's fist. They all looked up at him, and in the center was a sticker with a name on it. 

_From: Kevin and Megan._

_To: Aubrey._

He'd told his siblings, while they were trick-or-treating in October, that he if he was going to tell mom and dad, he'd tell them himself. They'd all agreed to use his given name when their parents were present, and only called him by his real name in private. They'd respected his decision, and he couldn't have asked for better friends.

Even so, that didn't mean they'd just let him wallow in self-loathing forever; Kevin had let him borrow his hoodies, and he wore a new one to bed every night. Megan had begged Patricia for an action figure, and when she'd asked why, his older sister had said it was for Kevin. She'd given it to Patrick when they got home, and it was quite possibly the best thing he'd had the pleasure of owning. Both of them had made a point of practicing Patrick's pronouns whenever he was around; they'd pretend they were introducing him to a new friend and say, "This is my brother Patrick. He likes music and movies and the color orange."

And now, as he gingerly tore open the wrapping paper, taking extra care to leave the tag intact, he saw that they'd given him yet another present.

In his hands was a small black box, tied with a ribbon. It was made of felt and soft to the touch. The white ribbon was silk, and he carefully brushed his fingertips across its looped form. He tugged on the end and it unraveled gracefully, loosing its form as he pulled it away. 

With a shaking hand, he opened the box.

Inside was a tower of paper. It looked an awful lot like the mountains he'd seen on his parents' desks, but as he looked closer, he saw that it beheld not printed words, no, but sentences scrawled in colored pencil with messy handwriting. They had been trimmed with scissors, and whoever had done so obviously wasn't the best cutter, because the sides were choppy and uneven and brushing the sides of the box.

It was perfect.

And, on the very first piece of paper, in the same scribbled handwriting as the tag, was a gorgeous sentence.

_For Patrick._

Something golden burst in Patrick's chest, like a bubble at the end of its life. It flooded his lungs and made his heart sing. His throat tightened as tears burned his eyes, and he wiped them away with a sniffle. A grin spread across his face, so wide it made his cheeks hurt, and he placed the lid back on the box so his father wouldn't see. He hugged it to his chest and let the warmth slide down his face, water meeting beneath his chin before dripping onto the box.

Okay, so, maybe he should've told Kevin and Megan that he wasn't crying for anything but happiness.

"AUBREY? AUBREY ARE YOU OKAY?"

"DO YOU NOT LIKE IT? MEGAN AND I CAN TAKE IT BACK YOU DON'T HAVE TO KEEP IT-"

"Guys!" he shouted, giggling and hiccupping. 

His brother and sister halted their panicked rambling and looked at him nervously. "...yeah?"

He laughed.

"I love it."

///

It wasn't until later, when Megan and Patrick had convinced their parents that they were asleep, that Patrick flicked on the light and grabbed the box. He removed the lid and smiled at his name, written in both Megan and Kevin's handwriting; they'd taken turns with each letter, one of them wielding a pink pen and the other writing in red. 

He grabbed it by the corner and was about to see what lay beneath, when Megan cut him off. "Have you looked at it yet?"

He smiled across at her. "Not yet. I'm gonna, though."

Megan smiled back. "I think you're gonna like it."

He nodded and placed the slip of paper beside him on the bed, shadows cast over his name.

The first letter was Kevin's.

_Your reelly cul._

Well, he wouldn't say he was _really_ cool, but knowing that Kevin thought that made his heart flutter regardless. 

He moved on to the next. 

_Your a good friend._

Either Megan had suddenly improved in her English, or she'd asked their mother for help. He didn't mind, either way; his sister was one of the smartest people he knew. 

_I lyk your hair._

He liked his hair, too. Good to know he wasn't the only one. 

_U give good hugs._

He wondered what their mother had thought when one of her children had suddenly begun asking a flurry of spelling-related questions.

She always loved helping them out, so she probably wouldn't have minded.

It continued on like that for several pages; compliments about his eyes, his laugh, his kindness, and he was feeling weightless when he dropped the next letter onto the ever-growing pile, like all of the weight since telling his siblings had been taken off his shoulders. 

But then, the compliments changed.

They weren't about his appearance or his personality or how he conducted himself around others.

His breath caught at the next sentence.

_Your a cool boy._

He cautiously read the next one, and then the one after that.

_U look like a boy._

_Your a gud brother._

_You are just like Kevin and dad._

_Your like Pinokio. Your a reel boy!_

_We will get you boy clothes soon._

_Mom and Dad will luv yu._

_Patrick is a cool name._

He was grinning as he reached the final letter, despite the tears pricking his eyes. There was a castle of uneven paper at his side, threatening to topple over like a house of cards at any moment, and he would be sure to put them away when he was finished. 

The last piece of paper was more than a sentence.

By quite a bit. 

_Dear Patrick,_

_We think you are a real boy. You are our brother, and we are really happy with that. You are our best friend. We promise to use the right words when you are around, and we hope you tell Mom and Dad soon so we can call you Patrick around them too. Then we can get you boy clothes! We will go with you when that happens._

_Someday, everyone will call you Patrick. Anyone who doesn't is dumb and they don't know what they are talking about. You can wear boy clothes and have boy hair and people will use boy words for you. It will happen one day._

_We love you lots and lots and lots. You are the best brother ever, Patrick._

_Love, Megan and Kevin._

_XOXO._

He was crying now, he was sure of it. The page became blurry and his hands started to tremble as he reached up to swipe away the water in his eyes. It returned seconds later and he didn't have the will to stop it. Tears dripped onto the letter, soaking the page, and he set it beside him to avoid drenching it.

They had written a letter for him.

Not just a sentence, not just a simple compliment.

An _entire letter._

And they'd spelled everything correctly, too. 

And, if he wasn't mistaken, he was quite sure that was the neatest handwriting his siblings could muster.

All for him. 

"Patrick, are you okay?"

Suddenly, Megan was in front of him, and he pitched forward immediately, hugging her as tightly as he could manage. 

"Thank you, Megan," he cried, grinning. "Thank you so much."

Megan laughed breezily.

"Anything for you, little brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my week has absolutely fucking sucked. One of my hermit crabs died, I'm torn between going to a school where I can stay with friends or going to a school with the best education (I'm leaning more towards the latter but I really don't know), I've been misgendered at least three times- probably more- and this asshole spewed some bullshit misogyny while my best friend (WHO IS FEMALE) was standing right there. To make matters worse, he though I was a girl too, and when I told him that my friend was the only girl out of the three of us he looked shocked and I doubt he believed me.
> 
> The thing that sucks the most is the misgendering. I cut my hair, color my eyebrows, bind my chest and practice exercises to make my voice deeper (which hurts like a bitch), and people are still blind enough to look at me and think, "That's a girl!" It's fucking annoying and it just takes the fun out of everything, knowing that no matter where I go, until I have a deep voice and a flat chest people will think I'm female. I'm also pissed that the guy had the audacity to spew bullshit from hundreds of years ago right in my friend's face; she's an angel and doesn't deserve anything bad to happen to her. EVER.
> 
> So yeah I'm just really dissapointed in humanity right now.
> 
> I really wish that the stuff in this chapter happened in real life but it won't so the best I can do is fantasize and write about it like the little emo bitch I am.


	6. No One Will Love You As You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're not a real boy. You might say you are, but you were born a girl, and you always will be."
> 
> -someone I've cut out of my life. 
> 
> TW for transphobia, transphobic slurs and physical assault. Please be careful when proceeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the scenes are based off of the coming out scene from 'More Happy Than Not.' It's this heartbreaking, gut-wrenching story with a bittersweet ending, and it's sitting on my bookshelf right now, begging for me to reread it. I nearly cried when I finished it. I really recommend reading 'More Happy Than Not' because it's a great book and it takes a deeper look into sexuality and self-discovery, without all the flowery, honeysuckle stuff. Slice of life, if you will. So yeah, if you're looking for gay angst, read Adam Silvera's 'More Happy Than Not' immediately.

Patrick Stumph was eight when his father found the box. 

For the past two years, he'd kept it in the crevice between his bed and the wall. The curtain of his quilt had hidden it completely, and he was sure no one would find it if they weren't really looking. Megan and Kevin both new where it was, and whenever he opened it again there'd be a new message waiting for him. However, the same piece of paper always remained on top.

_For Patrick._

Now, David had always been a bit _too_ nosey. Patrick had found him rummaging through Megan's drawers and shoving himself inside Kevin's closet, and there'd been a few occasions where he'd been caught looking beneath everyone's beds. He'd always say something like, 'I lost my flashlight,' or, 'I heard one of the kids stole from someone and I need to find where they kept the loot.' 

Excuses, excuses.

Not this time. 

Patrick stepped off the school bus with his brother and sister flanking him, and he waited for Kevin to push open the gate before wandering down the driveway and up to the front door. The mud caked on his shoes was left behind on the driveway in a trail of patterned footprints. For extra measure, he wiped his feet on the worn mat before the door. Kevin grasped the brass handle and was about to twist it when a loud shout stopped him dead in his tracks.

"IT WAS YOU, WASN'T IT? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO MADE HER A TRANNY!"

"I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT, DAVID! AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT!"

_"BULLSHIT!"_

Suddenly, the front door was thrown open, and Patrick flinched back to avoid being hit. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his palms stinging as they collided with the wooden boards beneath him, and he peered up cautiously.

David stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob, the other clenched in a white-knuckled fist at his side. He seemed taken aback at the sight of his children, but when his gaze shifted to Patrick, it was though a switch had flipped. 

Nostrils flaring, he stomped forward and grabbed Patrick's wrist, dragging him up so their eyes met.

In the sea of golden-ringed blue, it was beginning to rain, although it was nothing more than a dribble. 

In the sea of pure periwinkle, there was a storm brewing, ready to smash ships and sink souls. 

"You," David hissed, a snake ready to pounce. "What are you?"

"Wh-what?" Patrick breathed, cheeks damp.

David growled. "What are you? A boy or a girl?"

Patrick didn't understand, at first. Why would his dad be asking this question? What had set him off? Maybe he'd caught on to his behavior, or maybe he'd just been curious. Yeah, he was just curious. There was no way he could possibly know that his youngest child was...

Patricia bounded out of the house, knocking into David and making his grip go slack. Patrick dropped to the ground yet again and rubbed his tail-bone, wincing. 

When his eyes found the black box in his mother's hands, he understood. 

And he had never been so scared of someone in his life.

He thought it weird to be scared of his father. David had always stood tall, like a mountain above the churning sea. Unmovable. Unbreakable. 

Not anymore. 

"Answer me," David hissed, rising to tower over Patrick. "Are you a boy or a girl?"

"David-" Patricia tried, placing a hand on her husband's arm, but David shoved her away. 

"Answer me, dammit!"

The three words that had been in his mind, swirling like hurricane, for the past three years, had never been more outstanding. He couldn't keep quiet, he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm a boy."

And his father became cruelty incarnate. 

Patrick's cheek stung hot as his father's hand struck it, sending his head flying to the side. For a second, he wasn't sure how to react, and David took it as an opportunity to deal another blow to the opposite side of his face. He growled and reached out, beseeching fingers winding themselves around Patrick's neck like thorns. He choked and gasped, kicking wildly, gasping for air that wouldn't come. 

David squeezed tighter. "NO! YOU ARE A GIRL, AUBREY! A GIRL!"

"David!" Patricia sobbed behind him. "Stop it! Let her go!"

"SHE'S EARNED THIS. THIS IS WHAT _TRANNIES_ DESERVE."

_Trannies._

The venomous way that the word had left David's mouth made ice crawl through Patrick's veins, making his heart slow until it stopped beating. 

He was a tranny.

A transgender person. 

And apparently, transgender people- people like him- deserved to be choked by their father while their mother tried desperately to get him to stop.

Patricia was screaming now. "DAVID! STOP! WE PROMISED WE WOULD ALWAYS LOVE OUR CHILDREN, NO MATTER WHAT!"

"EMPTY _FUCKING_ PROMISE, PATRICIA!"

Did that mean his father hated him?

Was he not loved?

Kevin and Megan were hugging David's legs, shaking him and hitting the back of his knees. They were sobbing as they punched him, begging for him to stop and fall, but David was the strongest out of their family. He would kneel only if he were to die. 

"DAD!" Megan screeched, tears flowing as if they were part of the storm raging in her father's eyes. "LET HIM GO!"

David wasn't even bothering to respond. He squeezed tighter, knuckles white around his child's throat.

Patrick's lungs burned. His chest felt ready to cave in. Blood roared in his ears and his head pounded violently, and black spots began to appear in his vision. He felt cold and hot all at once. He gagged, opening his mouth and trying vainly to breathe, to speak and persuade his father to let him go.

Could he still call David his father if he was hated by him?

Would David still be his father after this?

His cheeks were as damp as everyone else's.

Why was David crying?

Kevin rose from the ground and punched David in the side. "YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM! LET HIM GO!"

David smirked. "Good."

And everyone with working lungs and hearts of gold continued their screaming.

He was going to die.

Patrick Stumph was going to die without being known as Patrick. He'd die a girl. He'd die a daughter, a niece, a sister. He'd die as the girl at school with the short hair, the girl in the neighborhood that wore her brother's hoodies, the girl in the quaint little house who dreamed of music and fame and glorious adoration.

He'd never get his dream house.

He'd never buy his own clothes.

He'd never get to show the world who he was.

He was going to die because of his own father.

And David would never see him as a son.

Something sparked in Patrick's chest, something angry and red and full of the brightest, hottest fire. Hotter than lava, hotter than lightning, hotter than the earth's core. It was something straight out of hell, burning with rage. Snakes slithered in his stomach, devouring the butterflies one by one. His burning lungs filled with raw power, with determination so strong it could take on the world. 

The fire spread to Patrick's legs. 

He would die. It was fate, after all. Every human was born to die. There was no avoiding it.

But he would not die here.

Not in the blistering cold outside, not with frost-bitten fingers and burning lungs.

Not by his father's hand.

With the last sliver of strength in his weak, suffering body, Patrick swung his foot back.

It struck home right below David's belt.

The thorns around his neck went slack, and a second later, oxygen flooded over him in a colossal wave. He gasped, lungs once again screaming. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper, and his throat was on the verge of tearing open. He was barely being held up, and when he squirmed meekly he was immediately dropped to the ground.

With his body and brain still recovering, he couldn't do anything but slump over and curl up on the porch, knees rising slowly to his chest while his hands went to his neck. They floated there, barely grazing the skin, and he was too exhausted to press down and feel the damage of David's fingers.

David.

He was still here.

Patrick wasn't safe.  

And his mother, angel that she was, did her damn hardest to change that.

David was holding his crotch, face scrunched up in pain, and Patricia, seeing her chance, swept Patrick over her shoulder and dashed inside. She dropped him on the couch and ran back for Kevin and Megan, tugging them along by their wrists. She slammed the door shut and pressed the button in the middle of the knob, locking it. For extra measure, she slid the ball at the end of the chain into the lock, the rusted metal screeching hideously. 

Patricia was a whirlwind as she leapt to the windows, twisting the keys and pulling down the blinds. She ran to the office at the end of the hallway and retrieved a two giant slabs of wood, thin but sturdy. She mounted them both on the windowsills, shoving them back into the panes. She sprinted up the stairs and repeated the process, and when she ran out of wood she improvised and used chairs, dressers, tables and anything else she could find. 

She took the stairs two at a time when she came back down, flying to the coffee table. She slammed her palms against it, the legs screaming against the polished floorboards, and kept going until it hit the door with a small thud. She panted where she stood, sweat shimmering on her brow and loose strands of hair falling against her face. 

Patrick blinked sluggishly, the world spinning around him. His voice cracked and splintered as he spoke, barely more than a whisper. "M-mommy?"

Patricia's hands came to her mouth, and her eyes were suddenly damp. "Oh God. I-I... I... oh my God."

"Patrick?" Megan whimpered, crouched beside the couch. "Are you... are you okay?"

Patrick hummed, nodding weakly, and he felt a pang of guilt when Megan began sobbing. Her shoulders shook along with her hands, and she hugged herself tightly. Patrick held out his arms and she threw herself into them, squeezing him so tightly his ribs ached. Lacking the strength to hug her back, he sagged against her and rested his head on her shoulder. 

There was a dip in the couch, and Patrick looked over to find Kevin at his feet, tear-tracks on his cheeks. A frown was set on his face, deep and disgusted. "You aren't okay. There's no way you're okay. Not after that."

Patrick opened his mouth to argue, but Megan's quivering voice cut him off. "H-he's right, you know. You almost... you could've..."

She continued weeping, the words lodged in her throat. 

"Oh my God, baby," Patricia whispered, walking toward them on shaky legs. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her, and her face was a splotchy mess. 

Another set of arms wrapped around him, and Patrick's nose was suddenly flooded with flowery perfume. He stiffened, unsure of how to react, and looked to his brother for help. He was... better at emotions than Patrick. 

Kevin didn't see him.

His spine was ramrod-stiff as he eyed the slabs of wood over the windows, scanning each one expertly before moving on to the next, like prey searching for its predator. 

David was still outside.

Their predator was right outside their door. 

They were cruelly reminded of this when a loud bang echoed throughout the house, making them all jump. David slammed his fist against the door a second time and the framed pictures on the wall shook, creeping towards the ends of their hooks slowly. Megan squeaked and grabbed a fistful of Patricia's blouse, tears connecting at her chin and dripping off her face. Patricia tightened her hold on both her and Patrick, cooing softly. Kevin bristled and, in a blur of movement that Patrick struggled to see, he tore his way to the barricaded door.

With a deep breath, he began, in the steadiest voice he could muster, "You stay out there. Stay away from us."

The pounding relented for a moment, before returning with a vengeance, accompanied by a loud, "What?!"

"I SAID STAY AWAY!" Kevin screamed, tears springing back to his eyes. "LEAVE US BE!"

David's muffled voice came again. "I AM YOUR _FATHER!_ I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR AND TEACH YOU A LESSON!"

"WHAT LESSON ARE YOU GOING TO TEACH, HUH?" Megan warbled. "ARE YOU GONNA TRY TO KILL US, TOO?!"

"If I have to."

Those words had Patrick breaking away and joining Kevin at the door.

His knees threatened to betray him with every step he took, and his entire body was numb but aching all at once. He shook his head, forcing the pain to the back of his mind as he reached the table blocking the door. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and even David had stopped his yelling. It was like the whole world was waiting, with bated breath, to see his next move. 

He heaved as he pulled himself onto the table, panting on his knees before facing the door. It was more like a gate to hell, at this point. He pushed himself up on his palms, standing carefully on the polished wood, and covered the rest of the distance toward the door. 

David could beat him. David could yell, he could cry, he could choke him out. Patrick wouldn't care.

But the minute, the very _second_ David tried to hurt his family, he would rise. He would stand tall and spit his blood on the ground. He would bare his fists and clench his teeth and charge forward at full force. 

David wasn't family anymore.

He was the enemy.

And Patrick's mission had always been to defeat the enemy. 

Resting a hand against the door, he swallowed. The motion hurt his throat, and he knew his next actions would put it to the brink of collapse. 

His father had to know the truth. 

It was about time, after all. 

"Dad," he said, voice crackling. He cleared his throat and continued, in a louder voice. "Dad, I know you're angry. I know you're upset and confused and ready to punch a hole through this door, but please, listen to what I have to say first."

There was a pause, so long Patrick wondered if perhaps David had left, but then a grumbled, "Alright."

He sighed.

"You saw the box. I know you did. It was probably really surprising to find a box addressed to Patrick underneath my bed, right? And you probably went through the rest of it, too. If you did, you would've seen what the rest of those letters had to say. So just let me explain.

"For a long time, I've wanted to tell you and mom this. I wish I had earlier, so it wouldn't have been something you had to find out." His vision blurred and he wiped uselessly at his eyes. "I'm not Aubrey, Dad. I'm Patrick."

He sucked in harsh breath. "Y-yeah, I know what you're thinking. _'Oh my God, why is this happening, what did I do?'_ Well, it didn't really have anything to do with you. I-I, um, I just always knew. That I wasn't Aubrey. I told Megan and Kevin a few years ago. Like I said, I wanted to tell you properly, but I guess you found out the hard way. Sorry."

He'd done it.

Patricia and David knew, now. 

At least, he hoped they did. 

What if they didn't get the message? What if they still called him _daughter_ and _little girl_ and _she?_ He couldn't handle that, he really couldn't.

"Is that all? There was more in the box than just _'Patrick.'"_

David spat out his real name like it was poison, and rather than the thrill that usually came there was only a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Of course David wouldn't make this easy.

"Well, u-um." Dammit, he was crying, of course he had to start crying. "P-Patrick's a boy's name, right? And, and I want to be called that, b-because, I'm a, I'm sort of a..." He sobbed, and, squeezing his eyes shut, he finished in a garbled yell. "I'm a boy!"

He'd pressed a pause button. 

There was no sound in the house. The pictures were still, the TV remained dormant, the occupants were frozen. The sunlight filtering through the windows became muted and dull as a cloud passed over, and Patrick's hopes were dulled along with it. He looked away from the door and down at his feet; at the skirt swirling around his waist and the giant hoodie pulled over his head. 

"Then you're no son of mine."

And Patrick faced the largest question he'd ever seen in his eight years of life, larger than any equation or quiz.

He was transgender. 

He'd found out three years ago.

Was it making his life better, with little bursts of happiness and smiles?

Or was it tearing apart, with the sight of his father walking away when he peeked beneath the wooden slab?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me just chilling with crippling dysphoria. 
> 
> I've started doing a subliminal thing for a flat chest and I really hope it at least does something because honestly having two boulders on my chest is really uncomfortable. 
> 
> AND I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES I GOT REALLY BUSY HOPEFULLY I'LL BE ABLE TO WRITE MORE SOON I'M REALLY SORRY AHHHH.


	7. Reaching For the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How (not) to run away from home.

Patrick wasn't sure how long he sat there, how long he watched. 

The ticking of the clock perched on the wall beside him rang in his ears and made his head pound. He thought he could hear Megan and Kevin speaking to their mother in hushed tones, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was nothing more than white noise. 

He continued to watch the driveway. 

What was he expecting? For his father to come back? For David to march back up to the house and apologize?

He knew it could never happen. His father's beliefs were set in stone, and impossible to change, no matter how hard anyone tried. Because he thought he was superior. Because he thought he was a genius. Because he thought he was right. 

Because he thought he only had one son. 

And now he was never coming back.

"Aubrey?"

Surely his mother wouldn't be any different. 

When he turned to face his mother, when he saw the horrified look she wore on her face, he knew what she was thinking. That he was foul. That he was an abomination. That he should have let David finish the job. 

That would have been better, right?

"I love you, mom."

With that, he leapt from the table and sprinted down the hall, his shoes clicking on the lacquered floor. His skirt fluttered against his thighs and the collar of his shirt squeezed around his neck like a noose. He felt foolish, out of place, as he entered his bedroom and locked the door. He shoved the dresser against it for good measure. 

He could hear his mother calling out to him, and soon she began pounding on the door, but he paid her no mind as he ran to his closet and all but ripped the door off its hinges. He grabbed the leather duffle bag that he'd gotten for Christmas- from David, of all people- and began to pack. 

Tearing shirts from their hangers and pants from their drawers, he filled the bag. He chose only the most masculine clothes, because dammit, if he was leaving this house he was leaving as Patrick. Aubrey was dead. He'd killed her himself.

Next came the essentials. Patrick ducked under the bed and found his and Megan's secret stash. They'd managed to accumulate a myriad of trinkets over the years, and he knew that there was enough money and food to help him last a week; maybe two, if he was careful. 

He grabbed a box painted with swirls and stars, opened it to make sure that there was enough money, and threw it on top of his clothes. A ziplocked bag bursting with candy fell on top of it. Then a watch, then a packet of bandages, then a hairbrush. Maps, jackets, blankets, shoes, an umbrella. He was hesitant about packing the knife, but there could be more people like David out there. Not everyone was going to be kind.

He tucked the knife into the waistband of his skirt.

A sleeping bag, shoved crudely into a bag, was tucked in beside everything else, and finally, a drink bottle. It was empty, but he was sure he'd be able to fill it up at some point. 

Without a second thought, he zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was heavier than he'd expected, and he wilted a bit under the weight, but if he needed to be strong if he wanted to leave. He knew he'd be running. 

A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he could still be recognized and, as quickly as he could, he slipped a black hoodie on and pulled the hood over his face. He tugged the drawstrings tight and grabbed his bag again, walking to the window. 

He tried to ignore the screams coming from behind the door.

"Patrick! Patrick open the door!"

"Let us in, love, please! I'm your mother, you have to let me in!"

"PATRICK OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, GODDAMMIT!" 

Patrick climbed onto the windowsill. 

The key was below the pane.

He twisted the lock.

The window swung outwards with a loud creak. 

"PATRICK YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING WHAT I THINK YOU'RE DOING."

With a deep breath, he jumped.

The resounding bang as he hit the dumpster rang throughout the neighborhood, and his body screamed in pain. He ignored it and rose to his feet, forcing himself to run. The sooner he got out of there, the better. 

Rain dampened his clothes as he jumped over the fence, and his knife began to slip down his leg before he caught it and shoved it in his pocket. He could feel it poking him in the stomach. Something hot and sticky bloomed beneath his jacket, along with a copper smell, and he was ever so grateful he'd packed bandages. 

Cars zipped past him as he dashed along the sidewalk, trying his hardest not to bump into people as he went. He muttered small apologies if he did. They stared at him curiously, at the child with a black hoodie and a fancy skirt and a duffel bag bigger than their whole body. He glared at anyone who stared for too long, though he doubted that his round cheeks and baby blue eyes were very intimidating. 

A foul smell, similar to the one that clung to his father, found its way to his nose when he reached the mall. He figured he'd walked about a mile. He hadn't noticed that the sun had sunken so low. 

"Oi, girly! What're you doing out here by yourself?"

He whipped around to find a man leaning against the wall just near the entrance. He sat on a sheet of cardboard and had a raggedy blanket draped around his shoulders. He wore ripped jeans and a bright red puffer jacket, topped off with a black beanie. His beard was long and messy, as though it hadn't been brushed or trimmed in a long, long time. A cigarette hung from between his teeth. 

Something about the man scared Patrick. Maybe it was the smell of smoke. Maybe it was the dull grey eyes staring through him, observing, judging. Maybe it was because his parents had always told him to stay away from strange people, especially people without homes. 'You don't want to end up like them,' his mother had hissed. 'They beg for money and go and spend it on drugs and alcohol. They're too lazy to get jobs so they don't have any money, and that's how they end up on the streets. Filthy hobos.'

Perhaps she had been a bit harsh, but Patrick was still weary. 

"I asked you a question, kiddo. Come here."

Trembling, throat dry, Patrick wiped his palms on his skirt and stepped forward. He gulped as the cigarette smell grew stronger, and tried not to cough when the man blew a huge cloud into his face. He cleared his throat.

"I-I, um," he coughed and puffed out his chest, trying his best to look strong. He forced his voice to lower, to make him sound like a boy. "I ran away from home."

The man barked out a rough laugh. "Oh, did you now? And why'd you decide to do that? Thought it'd be fun?"

He withered under the man's mocking gaze. "N-no, I- my family doesn't like me. Especially my dad."

"Is that so?" The playful glint in the man's eyes washed away, replaced by an underlying concern. "Why don't they like you, bub? You seem like a pretty nice kid."

"I-I'm…" Suddenly, words were stuck in his throat, but he swallowed them down. _I can tell him,_ he decided, _since he doesn't really know me._ "I'm transgender."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud. The word felt foreign on his tongue, like a taboo, like a cuss that he'd be in trouble for saying. 

It basically was, right?

"Huh." The man's eyebrows raised a bit, but he looked otherwise unfazed. "And they don't like you because of that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Pretty silly reason not to like someone."

Something strange stirred in his chest, not quite like butterflies. More like snakes. He gulped and nodded, for lack of words. 

"Do you know where you're going, or did you just decide to run?"

Admittedly, he hadn't thought of a plan when he'd leapt from the window. He'd just needed to _leave,_ to _run away,_ to _forget._

"I just needed to- I wanted to get out."

"Looks like you have supplies. Got any money?"

"Yep. In a box, in my bag." 

"That's good," the man said, nodding with a small smile playing at his lips. "Money's gonna get you far. It can't buy happiness, but it can buy food, water and shelter. Spend it wisely."

Patrick dipped his chin in thanks. "Okay."

"There's a park down the road a ways. Good place to hide out; it's huge, and the old playground's pretty much been abandoned. There's a cubby house sort of thing that you could stay in."

"Okay."

"There's a pool a few blocks away from it, so if you can get in you could use their showers. Maybe you could steal some people's food."

"Mom told me not to steal."

"Sometimes you don't have any other options."

"Oh. Okay."

The man smiled properly, eyes crinkling, and reached out for Patrick. He froze and prepared to run when a large, bony hand landed on his shoulder. He saw grey eyes shining at him, and he could see his own reflection in them.

"Good luck out there, kid," the man said. "Stay safe."

"I will. You too. Bye, sir."

"See you around."

With that, he turned on his heel and entered the mall. 

First job; get rid of the skirt. It was handmade, just for him, and he was sure that it would give him away, as well as make him look feminine. He couldn't have that.

He found the toilets and hid inside the disabled stall, locking the door and throwing his bag to the ground. He tore off the skirt and the black tights beneath them, before pulling on blue jeans. He looked in the mirror, taking down his hood.

His hair was ruffled and sticking out in all directions, and his cheeks were flushed. His baby blue eyes were dull. He tried to smile at the person in the mirror, but they grimaced at him instead. 

Holding the skirt, Patrick pulled the knife from his pocket. There was blood on the end of the blade. He'd deal with it later. 

Laying the skirt on the floor, he raised the knife and tore into the fabric. He started off slow, but as his emotions grew stronger and stronger he began to cut more wildly. Soon, he was slashing at the cloth like a madman, and his grin was fit to match. When he was finished, there was nothing more than blue tatters on the floor. 

He tucked the knife into his pocket and dumped the scraps in the trash.

Now, to fix his stomach.

Lifting up his shirt, he analyzed the wound. It really wasn't as bad as it could have been; a horizontal cut across his lower stomach, near his belly button. It was deep enough to bleed, but not so deep that it was dangerous. He folded paper towels, wet them and cleaned his wound. He grimaced at the cold, but at the same time it came as a relief.

When the wet paper joined the fabric in the garbage bin, he zipped up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the hood over his head and opened the door.

He made himself as invisible as he could as he exited the mall and walked through the parking lot, heading for the park the man had told him about. He waved at the grey eyed man and he waved back.

Patrick turned around and marched on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL I'M REALLY SORRY ABOUT THE LACK OF UPDATES I GOT REALLY BUSY AND I HAD YET ANOTHER GENDER CRISIS AND REALIZED I'M NONBINARY OOF AND ALSO THINK I MAY BE DEMISEXUAL BUT IDK AND I WAS HIT WITH A BOUT OF EXHAUSTION AND DEPRESSION SO AGGGHHHHHH FML. 
> 
> I'm hoping that this won't happen again, but I can't guarantee anything.  
> What I can guarantee is that there's going to be a major update to this story soon!
> 
> Basically if you've read the summary it looks like the fic will start off in whatever timeline that is, when Patrick's older, but as you can see that's not the case. So I decided, I'd revise the summary and (drumroll please)  
> Recreate chapter 1! 
> 
> What I'm planning to do is, quite simply, make a new chapter, which will be the first one, and have it in present day, and then Patrick will be, like recalling his story and all that, which will bring us to where we are now! It's sort of like the beginning of Where the Red Fern Grows (which is a p neat book tbh go read it it's sad you'll cry.)
> 
> Just thought I'd let you guys know so you don't get confused when you see that chapter one has changed. Bye!


End file.
